


Moirin's First Cold

by CometEclipse



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Humor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-19
Updated: 2016-07-30
Packaged: 2018-07-25 09:48:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7528012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CometEclipse/pseuds/CometEclipse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Moirin comes down with a cold. These little stories came from the idea that as a Dalish elf, she had never been sick in a human way before. Then all the ways that her companions would react to her being sick! I had a lot of fun playing with these little drabbles!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Fuss

**Author's Note:**

  * For [morie91](https://archiveofourown.org/users/morie91/gifts).



Moirin coughed, trying to ease the ache in her throat as she crossed Josephine’s office. There was a constant tickle of annoyance, scratchy and irritating. She felt like she had just gulped down a shot of Bull’s favorite potent brew. That stuff burned on the way down, left tears in her eyes as she tried to finish even one drink. Only now she didn’t have the fun side effects.

She pushed through to the war room, her advisers already gathered around. She was weary, wouldn’t mind going to take a nap, but there was work to be done. “Right, let’s get started.” Or, at least, that’s what she tried to say. Her words were thick and goopy, all of the t’s sounding more like d’s.

They looked at her confused for a moment. Moirin just blinked, waiting for them to start, but nothing happened. She could feel that constant trickle of liquid run from her nose, and she sniffed. Unlike how it had worked throughout the earlier part of her day, though, she couldn’t draw air in. She scrunched her face, breathing through her mouth as that liquid escaped. With a little moue of disgust, she wiped it away on the sleeve of her robes.

“Moirin!” Cullen burst out, rushing around the table. “What is wrong? Are you sick?” He stripped his gloves, laying one of his large hands gently over her forehead. Moirin smiled up at him, his display of affection unusual when he was working.

“I’m find.” Her words came out strange again, causing her throat to scratch and making her cough. Cullen’s face paled; fear as if she were meeting her doom settling over his face.

“You have a fever! You are sick. To bed instantly. I will make sure you have soup and liquids. Josephine,” he spun, his expression not relaxing in the least. “Have the maids deliver a hot bath.” He twisted quickly back to Moirin, then spun around again. “And have a fire lit.” He did that silly little about-face once more, and Moirin had to press her lips together to keep from laughing. “And some fresh warm linens.”

“Right away!” Josephine started to scribble something as she rushed through the door. “What was that tea mother always made for me? I will need to send a raven, have her send me the recipe. Oh, Grandmama had that soup that was especially hearty. I will send a letter to her as well. Will they get here soon enough? Maybe I should ask King Alistair if he knows of any remedies. Oh! And the Dalish! Her clan would know of some secret cure...” Her low mutters drifted back from her hurried dash towards the kitchen.

Leliana watched the frantic movements of her counsel-mates, laughter rising in her chest. Cullen peppered Moirin with questions of how she felt, producing a handkerchief from Maker-knows where as he dabbed at the elf’s delicate red nose, trying to coax her faster from the War Room and up to her bed. In general acting like a mother hen. Josephine’s haste left little splashes of candle wax on the ground, a loose paper tumbling to the stone floor. Leliana shook her head, smiling slightly. It was only a little cold. It wasn’t like the Inquisitor was dying. She had suffered far worse injuries before, although it was true she had never gotten sick.

She just barely stopped herself from laughing as she saw Cullen sweep Moirin up into his arms, the Inquisitor obviously not moving fast enough for him. Leliana smiled indulgently, then made her way up to her ravens. No doubt she would need to prepare ten or so for Josephine’s letters. And it wouldn’t hurt to send out a few inquiries of her own.


	2. Cole

Moirin leaned back against the headboards of her bed, reading through the reports that were simpler. Anything too complicated made her dizzy, but these were simple enough to work to prevent her from getting too antsy. She sniffed, then sighed, blowing her nose as she remembered Cullen’s reprimands.

A knock rang out, and she called out “Come in!” Grateful for the distraction, she pushed herself up more fully, setting aside the papers.

She was not expecting Cole to come bounding up the stairs, his big hat flopping over his eyes with each step, a happy smile beaming at her. What she had really not been expecting was the live chicken clasped in his arms, frantically wiggling and crying to be let loose. 

“I brought you a chicken!” He stopped next to her, proudly holding out his prize for her to take.

Moirin sat stunned for a moment, mind racing. Why a chicken? Had she ever said anything about wanting a chicken before? Not that she knew too much about shemlan traditions, but was giving a chicken some sort of ritual?

“Don’t you like it?” His face fell, arms dropping slightly in worry.

“Oh no, I like it.” Moirin quickly reached out and patted a hand along the wiggling body. “But… why?”

Cole’s face brightened. “The cooks said chicken was the best thing for the sniffles!”

Moirin nodded at the sage wisdom, confused beyond belief. Well, she mentally shrugged, they would know more about this human cold than she would. 

Cole frowned down at the chicken. “Now what do we do?”

“Um, maybe let it go?” Identical looks of concentration followed the bird as Cole set it down on the foot of her bed. It bolted to the floor, racing wildly around for a moment before calming quickly. It then proceeded to walk around her rooms, searching for food.

“Is it working?” Cole asked her, his voice low.

Moirin felt another of those drips sliding down her nose, and she sniffed at it, shaking her head. “Maybe it just needs time?”

Together they stared at the scratching chicken, waiting for its chicken magic to happen.


	3. Solas

Solas set the small tea chest down on the side table, looking at her with concern. “How are you feeling, lethallan?”

Moirin smiled at him, happy to see her friend. “I’m alright.” Her throat was raw and scratchy, and she couldn’t prevent the cough that pushed from her lips. He narrowed his eyes, looking unconvinced by her pathetic attempts to reassure him. She smiled to him weakly, aware she must look pretty pathetic. Cullen had insisted she bundle up and rest, so she was in bed, piles of blankets over her, her warmest pajamas on.

Solas turned back to the chest. “What do you think would help? There are several different types that you might like.” 

Moirin leaned her head back against her pillows, mahogany hair fanned around her shoulders. “Whichever you think is best.” The words tickled her throat, and she cleared it, trying to push away the annoying twinges.

Solas pulled open the little drawers, muttering quietly to himself. “This one may be good. It is too bitter though. Too much caffeine. Boosts healing, but not the right kind.” He went through them, closing more and more with a pinched look of distaste on his face. “Tolerable, but not helpful. This one would do, I suppose. No. No. No. This one helps sleep, but is far too strong. Oh! I can stand this one. Maybe a mixture…”

Moirin started to doze as he sorted through the chest, leaving very few of the little drawers open in his quest for the perfect tea. 

“Lethallan.” His quiet word roused her, and she blinked away. Solas held out a steaming cup for her, and she groggily took it from him. “Careful. It is hot.” She gingerly blew at the steam while he talked, waiting so she didn’t burn her tongue. “This one is bitter, so I added some sweetener. But it will help you sleep and soothe your throat.” 

She took a tentative sip, and almost choked on it. It was syrupy sweet; she couldn’t taste the actual tea at all, only the honey used to mask it. But the heat did help with that annoying rasp, so she took larger gulps, feeling the soothing liquid trickle down her throat. 

Solas had turned back to the little table, and she noticed that he was mixing together another cup. Her green eyes grew rounder as he measured out three spoonfuls of sugar, stirring the hot water and tea together. He frowned down at the cup before picking up the pot of honey and ladled out two more spoonfuls of the sweet liquid. No wonder it tasted so sugary. It practically was sugar. 

He turned to her and smiled, “This one will help with any aches you have.” He set the cup on the table, and it was then Moirin noticed the other two cups filled with hot water. He beamed as he then pointed to the other two. “This one will speed your recovery, and this one will boost your immune system.” He turned his too wise eyes onto her. “Make sure you drink them all.”

Dutifully Moirin took another gulp of the tea in her hands, preventing herself from wincing at just how honeyed it was. There were three more just like it? Maybe if he left she could dump one of them over the balcony. He would never know. 

“I don’t like tea myself; too bitter no matter what I do. But it can be helpful healer.” No kidding. How in the world could this drink ever be considered bitter?! She smiled to him weakly, finishing off the cup. He immediately took it from her, and passed her the next one. 

Stifling her groan, she sipped it. She was right, it tasted exactly the same. With an inward sigh, she resigned herself to spending the next few days being plied with too sugary drinks while she was awake. Next time Solas came around, she was going to pretend to be asleep. 

A horrible thought intruded. Creators, he would just find her in the Fade! There would be no escaping her fellow mage. Gritting her teeth, she just chugged the cup. Maybe if she exploded he would stop.


End file.
